Heaving the anchor

When first we hear the boatswain's bray, With a voice like thunder roaring, All hands, my lads, get under way; Hark! the signal for unmooring. To save the joyous breeze, Our handspikes quick we seize, In hopes to meet the foe— Our capston here, the windless there, We man to the tune of heo, hea, heo, &c.

Cast loose your topsails next he cries, Top-gallant sails and courses, Clew lines and geer, let go my boys. Haul home your sheets like horses, The mizen too, be glib, Fore stay-sail too, and jib, Your downhauls, boys, let go: We straight comply, and eager fly, And obey to the tune of heo, hea, heo, &c.

The anchor's up, oh! next we call, Avast boys, vast your heaving, Our cat and fish we overhaul, Our handspikes nimbly leaving; Then if a prosperous gale, We croud on every sail, Our sheets they sweetly flow, Along we swim, our braces trim, And its all to the tune of heo, hea, heo, &c.

Then lovely Moll and Sue and Beck, Their eyes with grief o'erflowing, With heavy hearts come up on deck, The rude wind on them blowing: A short embrace we take, Which makes our hearts to ake, A while we're lost in woe: Nor to our grief can find relief, Till cheer'd by the tune of heo, hea, heo, &c.